


How Not to Train Your Jedi

by OutcastTrip1995



Series: Old Republic Histories [7]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Belsavis (Star Wars), Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emperor's Fortress, F/F, Fallen Jedi, Fills in the gap between Chapter 2 and 3 of the Jedi Knight story, Heavy Angst, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Multi, Possession, SWBigBang, Siblings set on Siblings, Sith Empire, Torture, Voss - Freeform, please read the warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:00:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23986453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutcastTrip1995/pseuds/OutcastTrip1995
Summary: How not to train a captured Jedi; a study by the Sith Emperor (who needs kicking off his throne post haste)
Relationships: Aric Jorgan/Female Republic Trooper, Female Bounty Hunter/Female Bounty Hunter/Torian Cadera, Female Republic Trooper/Female Republic Trooper
Series: Old Republic Histories [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1487549
Comments: 5
Kudos: 5
Collections: Star Wars Big Bang 2020





	How Not to Train Your Jedi

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Family lasts through all Betrayal [ART]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945308) by [Jahaliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jahaliel/pseuds/Jahaliel). 



> Beta-ed by the fantastic @verbose_vespertine!  
> Art by the equally fantastic @Jahaliel
> 
> So ... I find the lack of what actually goes on in the time between the Sith Emperor knocking out the Jedi Knight and them being freed by Master Orgus _disturbing_  
>  Ergo for this year's Star Wars BigBang I thought I'd show what happens to my Heroes of Tython in this time period! Please read the warnings ^^

If the bandage swathed corpse he currently called a body was capable of it, Vitiate, Emperor of the Sith, would probably be smiling right now. The Jedi should send him gifts like these more often; their misguided attempts to remove him from power were most amusing. The little side projects that were often the results of these pitiful attempts against his person also kept his mind active. Take the two Cathar Jedi he still had imprisoned in kolto tanks for instance. They, unlike their compatriots, had taken much much longer to break. Less than subtle probing with the Force had revealed a strong Force bond between the two Jedi; one forged from the lifetime they’d apparently spent together. A bond of blood, fire, the Force and family. A bond that allowed them to combine their defensive might and rally against him. An interesting bond that he’d enjoyed tearing into and corrupting with his influence. He had savored the haunting and agonised screams of torment he’d drawn from the two Jedi as their very defenses had been turned against them for days while they slowly succumbed to his Dark might. A raspy chuckle slowly filled the throne room and Vitiate leaned forward in his throne, steepling his fingers together. Yes. The two Cathar would be fine additions to his personal forces. Very fine additions indeed. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

The day the two Cathar were due to be released from the kolto tanks Vitiate decided that he’d grace them with his presence. He was interested in seeing how far under his control the two had fallen; and this would be the perfect test. After all: if he had succeeded then they wouldn’t dare attack him. Striding into the medical bay like he owned the place (which in all honesty he did) Vitiate calmly stood with his hands behind his back and watched as the kolto slowly started to drain away from the tanks. The process was slow, laborious even, despite the high quality of the tanks themselves and Vitiate found his gaze wandering over to where the armor of the two Cathar had been neatly piled. One had to admire the craftsmanship of the leather and durasteel ensembles; but it was the colors that intrigued Vitiate the most. What would possess a Jedi to wear black? Or white even? Such stark and unforgiving colors at the opposite ends of the spectrum; it baffled the mind. And then there were the lightsabers. Those he’d definitely have to lock away; or risk even the slightest flickerings of resistance sparking to life in his new servants. Ignoring the revulsion and fear he could feel coming from the kyber crystals housed within the lightsabers, Vitiate lazily subjected each one to his scrutiny. Again as with the armor, the work and skill that had gone into the construction of the four saber hilts was meticulous, extraordinary; one could even go so far as to say they were exquisite. However what drew the Emperor’s attention was not the hilts but the actual crystals themselves and the blades they formed. Two crystals produced the highly rare and unusual black cored blades upon activation - which implied to him that their wielder already had a close affinity with the Grey and Darker aspects of the Force. For a Jedi to have such blades … t’was almost unheard of. The last Jedi to come close to black cored blades was Revan himself before the crystals settled properly and turned the blades purple. The other two crystals were just as unique; even if the connotations of their colorations were less negatively inclined. Crystals that produced blades of metallic hues like these two silver-blue and golden specimens tended to indicate a mental balance and purity. In all honesty, Vitiate found himself wondering briefly as to why so few Jedi had the rare blade colors. After all did they not preach to the Galaxy about the purity of the Force? Especially the so-called ‘Light’ Side? Their rampant **hypocrisy** disgusted and incensed the Emperor, adding more fuel to the blaze that was the Dark Side within him. To only see the purity in their chosen aspect of the Force ... was it that they were **willfully** blind? Or was it just plain ignorance that blinded them to the equal purity of the Dark Side. The depths to which Sith and Fallen Jedi had to descend before even being able to brush a metaphorical fingertip to the fringes of the Dark Side’s all consuming power. And once that first tentative connection was made … oh the **addictiveness** of the power that drew the practitioner even further into those Dark depths. It was a sensation to be **revelled** in, celebrated and glorified; not vilified and despised. Vitiate smiled coldly as the kolto tanks finished draining with a small beep and the transparisteel panels retracted to release the two Cathar held within. It was time he passed on such a lesson to the Dark Side’s newest disciples. To his Blades of the Empire. 

*** 

It … it was like watching a Sentinel combat simulation. Only those simulations were all third person … and no one was actually physically involved or hurt in the process. This was definitely not a simulation. For a start; there was no escape. Zeron had ‘woken up’ to find that his eyes were already open and his body moving without him. A quick mental cry for help across the bond he shared with his cousin rebounded harshly off a wall of the Dark Side keeping the two Cathar separated. That had sent Zeron into a panic and he retreated further into the little part of his mind that was still his own to try and process what was going on. All he remembered was confronting the Sith Emperor alongside Leonar and the others. They had had the numbers but the confidence the Sith had excluded … instinct had screamed at him to run and hide even though he had stubbornly stood his ground. It seemed that that had been his downfall more than anything else … that damn stubbornness that he and his cousin shared. It was something all their teachers had grumbled about … their fierce desire to stand their ground and overcome any challenge that came their way regardless of how outmatched they’d been. Well … looked like they were finally paying the price for not curbing their stubborn natures as Padawans. 

“Kneel before me, my Blades.” 

Zeron blinked, drawn out of his self recrimination as his body moved in response to the rasped order, dropping obediently down to one knee. Daring to take a peek out of his unresponsive eyes; Zeron felt sick to his stomach. He knew now who had blocked his bond with Leonar and who was controlling his body. The Sith Emperor himself. He felt a bandage-wrapped hand grasp his chin and lift his head up to face the obscured one of the Emperor; the Sith humming thoughtfully under his breath. 

“Hmph; I will **never** understand what the Jedi see in letting aliens into their order.” 

Zeron growled in his mindscape as his head was turned one way then the other by the hand on his chin and fought back a mental shiver of revulsion. Oh to have his blades in his hands right now … the Jedi way be **damned** ; he’d **enjoy** gutting the smug Sith. 

“Still, I suppose you’ll have your uses.” 

The hand abruptly left his face and Zeron wished he could scrub the feeling of those filthy bandages from his skin and fur. But he couldn’t; his body instead obediently staying still in that kneeling position that was really starting to make his knees cramp. He could only hope that he found a way to escape this living nightmare … he dreaded to think what the Emperor had planned for him and Leonar. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Waking up to a scorched and shattered mindscape was one hell of a trip. Mind you, his mindscape had never been the most tidy of places anyway; there were too many fights to get into and too many droids to take apart and investigate before putting back together … at least mostly. Leonar groaned quietly and rolled over onto his back, blinking up at the smoke-hazed sky of his mindscape. That had been one hell of a nightmare … for a moment there he actually thought that they’d lost to the Sith Emperor. They; the twin (yeah he knew that he and Zeron weren’t twins but it was just too much of a hassle to correct the Holonet) Heroes of Tython, two Jedi Masters and an equally experienced Jedi Knight. 

“Kneel before me, my Blades.” 

Then his body decided that it was going to drop into a subservient kneeling position without his permission and Leonar rolled back to his feet with a snarl. Okay, definitely not a nightmare … someone actually had the **biggest** pair of brassy ones and had the **temerity** to control him?! Oh he was going to absolutely Force slam the bastard who’s done this to him into the nearest ship reactor! A hand took his chin and Leonar hissed furiously. Trapped in his mind as he was there was little he could do about the bandages rubbing against his kolto damp fur, but that didn’t stop him coming up with creative ideas on how to remove the hand … with **extreme** prejudice. A nasty grin twisted Leonar’s face as his head was lifted up to look the Sith Emperor in the eye. Oh he was going to definitely **enjoy** removing this particular bastard’s hand. And arm. And legs. And the other arm … drop each one into a separate star … save the torso and head for last to drop into the closest black hole. Maybe that would finally kill this withered and disgusting Sith corpse that called himself an Emperor. 

“ **Pathetic**. How a runt of your species could rise to become such a lauded Jedi is beyond me. Truly laughable.” 

Oh he did **not** go there! Not the height! Leonar snarled furiously and lashed out at the Dark Side wall keeping him imprisoned in his mind. Seriously why did everyone always focus on how short he was?! It wasn’t like it was even his fault anyway … all the Healers at the Temple had told him that it had been a combination of having a twin (an actual twin and not his cousin like so many people thought) and missing out on the nutrients most Cathar kittens got from their mothers within the first few weeks of their birth. 

“ **Runt**?! **I’ll show you runt you stunted excuse for a bastard bitch spawn of a sleen kriffing Hutt**!” 

Pain unlike anything he had ever experienced in his life shot through his body and mindscape, sending Leonar to the scorched ground with a pained scream. Panting heavily, he felt his head get yanked up at an uncomfortable angle; the Sith’s fetid decaying breath offended his olfactory senses. 

“I can see you little Jedi. I **sense** your defiance. The pain you feel is only a **taste** of what I shall unleash on you should you try and rebel against me.” 

Leonar rolled over onto his front and looked up out eyes that were not his own to glare murderously at the Emperor. So the bastard could see him trapped in what little of his mindscape remained his own, could he? Fine. Then he’d be able to see the middle fingers he’d just raised in the fucker’s direction. **Screw** surrender … he was a Jedi of the Republic. The day he willingly bowed to a Sith would be the day the Galaxy itself caught fire. 

*** 

There were not many days that he felt regret for going after Darth Angral alone; but when he had to watch helplessly from the Well of the Force as his two best and brightest students were tortured and subverted by the Sith Emperor, Master Orgus Din came pretty damn close. Although he had never told them, he’d watched over the two Cathar since they were kittens in the Temple. Why wouldn’t he have when he’d been one of the Jedi who had brought them there in the first place. He remembered it all too well; that day when two rather well dressed Cathar ladies had strode towards the seeker’s ship with little bundles in their arms. Orgus and his companions had already spoken to two other Cathar families about their Force-sensitive offspring, and had agreed to let the families wait until the kittens were a few years old before deciding if they wanted them to receive formal training. But not so these two ladies. It had been clear as they approached the ship that the bundles they carried were Force-sensitive, but there was no nervous joy or excitement to be had. Both Cathar had been cold and aloof, and had shown no reaction to practically dropping their kittens in the arms of Orgus and one of his companions. He could still remember their words to this very day. 

“Keep them or don’t; it matters not. We will **not** have such abnormalities in our pride.” 

They’d strode off with heads held high like they hadn’t just abandoned their own children to an unknown future. Orgus’s companion had been utterly gobsmacked before the quiet fussing and crying of the little freckle faced kitten in their arms had drawn their attention. Orgus had looked down at his own bundle, watching as the tiny kitten had stirred and opened the brightest green eyes he had ever seen. In that instance he’d felt something stir that he hadn’t felt since the death of his own Padawan during the Sacking of Coruscant; and a surge of protectiveness had swept over him as the Force hummed with approval. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Orgus sighed as he shook himself to free his mind of the memories. There was little point in dwelling on what had been with regards to Leonar and Zeron’s beginnings with the Jedi. The two mothers had never once bothered to contact the Jedi with regards to their children’s progress; and all things considered Orgus never tried very hard to contact them in return. Petty yes; but justified. And besides, the two Cathar had grown up happy and safe in the Temple; a pair of rambunctious trouble makers weaving between the feet of the Sentinels and making all the Consulars smile at the purity and innocence of their play. 

A fierce flash of defiance rang through the Force before being brutally smothered again by the Dark Side and Orgus quickly returned his attention to his two captured students. He couldn’t help but bristle at the degrading and humiliating treatment they were subjected to, being made to kneel before the Sith like they were so the decrepit and ancient terror could … examine them. Whatever the Sith had seen in Zeron had left him satisfied; however, it had only taken mere seconds after insulting Leonar’s diminutive height for the Emperor to brutally subject the Cathar to a torrent of Force lightning. Orgus winced sympathetically as he felt Leonar’s scream through the Force, but there was nothing he could do to even comfort his former Padawan. With Vitiate right there, to reveal himself would be catastrophic. No … no he would have to wait. Wait and hope that there was still time to help his students break free from the bonds holding them tight to the Emperor’s will. 

*** 

Ah there was **nothing** better than sipping at a particularly old, fine and rare Kaasian red wine (laid down just after the founding of Kaas City if he remembered right) and lounging in one’s throne whilst watching one’s newest minions becoming more and more entrenched in the Dark Side. Vitiate casually swirled his crystal glass in his hand, lazily admiring how the light shone through the truly delicious vintage held within before a crash drew his attention back over to the two Cathar in the meditation circle. The taller of the two had been caught off guard by one particularly malevolent Sith Spirit housed within the Dark Side artifacts around the edge of the circle and was currently convulsing under a barrage of Force Lightning. Not enough to kill; Vitiate had made his opinion on that **explicitly** clear when he’d set up the possessed artifacts in the shielded circle, but certainly enough to scar. No matter. He’d enslaved the two Jedi for their combat skills and power in the Force, not their looks. 

“My Lord Emperor; I still believe that this is unwise. The Jedi are strong in the Force … they will not fully submit to the Dark Side easily.” 

Vitiate’s eyes narrowed and he looked away from the two Cathar to the Pureblood standing at his right hand. The Emperor’s Wrath: his greatest and most valuable weapon in his war against the Jedi and his executioner. The one whom even the Dark Council dreaded, whose gaze they forever sought to avoid lest it spell out their doom. And right now, the biggest thorn in his side. 

“You doubt your Emperor’s plans, my Wrath?” 

“Of course not. Your plan will lead the Sith Empire to greatness; of that there is truly no doubt.” 

The Wrath bowed his head; a show of fealty without true submission. An act only the Wrath could truly get away with in the Emperor’s presence. 

“But still my Lord; I have read the reports on these two particular Jedi. And Darth Baras’s spies confirm it. Both are considered without peer with the blade, and their strength in the Force is undeniable. As is their will power and character. Put simply: they will **never** willfully join you my Lord … so why play these games with them?” 

Rather than dismissing his Wrath’s observations out of hand, Vitate actually mulled things over in his head for a brief moment. The Wrath was indeed correct; he was playing a game with the two Jedi … wearing them down rather than crushing them with a swift brutal strike. Yes it was amusing, but it held no tactical significance … and it did mean there was an **unacceptable** delay in unleashing the two upon the wider Galaxy. And yet there was something … Vitiate decided that more alcohol needed to be imbibed in order for clarity, sipping at the wine in his glass. **Exquisite**. Truly exquisite. He returned his attention to the patiently waiting Sith at his right hand. 

“You have a suggestion then, my Wrath? Since today seems to be one of your more … verbose.” 

The Wrath merely bowed again before looking down at the two now meditating Cathar, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“They should be on Korriban my Emperor, held captive within the tombs and broken by our most experienced Sith until their fealty to you was without question. Baras’s current apprentice currently has under her tutelage a fallen Jedi Padawan with a truly powerful Force gift that you could use to monitor their progress. Forgive me, my Emperor, but it simply is unsafe for the two Jedi to remain here. Should anything happen to your hold on them -” 

“You **dare** suggest my power is not strong enough to control two pathetic **Jedi**?” 

The Wrath froze as Vitiate cut across him, icily spoken words cracking out like shatter points on glass. Realising that he had overstepped, the Wrath shook his head slightly. 

“I would not dare, my Lord Emperor.” 

“Good. See that you don’t.” Vitiate settled back into his throne, draining the last of his wine from his glass. A shame that he had to ration it so, but so few bottles of this particular vintage remained. Each one was to be savored only sparingly. “And while your … suggestion holds merit, my Wrath; do **not** question my plans again. There is a **beauty** in breaking Jedi slowly, one that you simply could not appreciate. I already have something in mind to facilitate their final Fall; and you will **not** question me on the matter.” 

The Wrath bowed and returned his impassive gaze to the Jedi below, face once again devoid of emotion. 

“As you decree, my Lord Emperor.” 

“As **I** decree, my Wrath.” 

Vitiate smiled cruelly and sent a strong burst of Dark Side energies down the bonds that bound the two Jedi to his will. Oh he had the perfect plan in mind to push the two over the brink. Something more painful than any tortures cooked up by the Inquisitors on Korriban. Something utterly ruthless. Something far more **cruel**. 

*** 

“Zeer’ana? What is it?” 

Fists raw and bloody from pounding the punchbag she’d installed in her quarters, Zeer’ana grunted angrily and slammed a vicious right hook into the much abused leather. The news she had received … it wasn’t for sharing. Not with her lover. 

“Z?” 

Vodi edged carefully edged around her girlfriend, mindful of her powerful fists and solid elbows as the angry Cathar continued to brutally whale on the punchbag. Taking a deep breath, she caught Zeer’ana’s fist as it sailed towards the bag; startling her enough that she could pull the higher ranked Havoc member closer to herself. 

“Z please; talk to me.” 

Zeer’ana’s blue eyes flicked over to a datapad lying on the floor, its screen cracked from where she’d thrown it against the wall. Slowly letting go of Zeer’ana’s wrist once she was sure the foul-tempered Cathar had calmed down, Vodi walked over to the datapad and picked it up. Activating it, her eyes calmly but quickly scanned over the report within … until a series of sentences startled a shocked gasp from her. 

“Your cousin and brother …?” 

“Missing. Presumed captured or dead at the hands of the Sith Emperor those **fuckers** sent them after.” 

Zeer’ana whirled on her punchbag with a roar, smashing her already bloody fist into the leather again. 

“Those **bastards**! Sitting all high and fucking mighty in their damn ivory towers! Leonar’s my baby cousin for Huntress’s sake! And Zeron is my fucking **twin**! How the hell can they kriffing expect me to just sit back and **wait** until they somehow pop up again?!” 

Vodi set the datapad aside with a sigh and walked back over to her girlfriend, wrapping her slim arms around Zeer’ana’s toned middle and resting her head between her solid shoulders. 

“Leonar and Zeron are smart ones Z, and fighters to boot. Plus they have each other! I’m sure they’re alive … wherever they are.” 

“Oh I’d bet my commission on it.” 

Zeer’ana turned in Vodi’s grip, leaning down to gently kiss her. Blue eyes flashed with a dangerous light as her steely gaze turned to look out at the stars through the viewport. 

“Because we’re going to go find them.” 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

“ **What d’you mean I can’t have the leave**?! I haven’t taken a **single** personal day since I finished basic and now you’re telling me I can’t take one? Get me Garza on the line **now**!” 

Zeer’ana’s face twisted into a furious snarl as the poor aide stuttered and stammered; the fuming Cathar wrenching herself free of her boyfriend’s restraining grip and slamming her clenched fist against the holotable. 

“Sometime **today** Coporal! I’m not getting any younger here!” 

“I … I’m sorry sir. The General is in a very important meeting right now … she gave explicit orders that she not be disturbed sir! I …” The unfortunate aide’s trembling words slowly faded at the look of pure undiluted loathing in Zeer’ana’s eyes. The enraged Major growled low in her throat and leaned forward, her gaze fixed directly on the aide. 

“ **Listen to me right now you whining ladder-climbing paper pusher**! Either you get the General on this line right the **fek** now or **you** can be the one to explain to her **why the entirety of Havoc Squad has once again gone AWOL do you understand**?!” 

A very quiet meeping sound was her answer and the aide quickly scurried out of view and closed the connection. Still growling, Zeer’ana straightened back up, snorting roughly at the reproachful look on her second’s face. 

“ **Don’t** give me that look Scope. If it were your family you’d be doing the same.” 

Aric ‘Scope’ Jorgan shrugged quietly, unable to argue with those curt words. “That may be, sir.” His proud features creased into a stern frown as he looked up at the taller Cathar. “But you didn’t have to scare the poor kid like that either. He was so green he’d disappear in a garden.” 

Zeer’ana rolled her eyes and huffed, looking for all the world like a petulant teenager and not the seasoned leader of Havoc Squad. But she didn’t feel like being the leader of Havoc right now though. Right now she was a scared and worried sister who wanted to get out there and find her MIA family members before something happened to them. 

“Um excuse me?” 

Both Cathar’s heads turned so sharply that the cracks of their necks echoed loudly around the Thunderclap’s operations room. Standing just inside the open airlock and setting his kit bag down was a … a **kid**? The young soldier removed his forest camo issue field cap and looked up the stairs with the bluest eyes Zeer’ana had ever seen on a human. The kid looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t figure out where ... 

“Is this a bad time sirs? I was told to report to the commanding officer of Havoc Squad on the ASAP…?” 

Zeer’ana was pulled from her musings by the rough Nar Shaddaa accent, totally out of place with the kid’s military regulation appearance. She blinked, feeling totally out of the loop for a moment, and looked at Jorgan. 

“We get a newbie?” 

“Oh good grief.” Jorgan sighed tiredly and nodded, rubbing his face. “I did try to tell you yesterday sir. But you were … rather distracted.” 

Meaning she and Vodi had been too busy making out like desperate teenagers for her to bother listening again. Oops. Coughing roughly, Zeer’ana straightened her shoulders and adopted an at ease posture. 

“Don’t stand in the airlock kid, you’re letting the heat out and I don’t wanna have to listen to Entwo bitch about the dust levels on this ship again.” 

The kid snapped to quickly; snagging his bag with ease and slinging it back over one broad shoulder as he ascended the stairs into the Thunderclap proper, allowing the airlock to close behind him. As he finally came to a rest in front of Zeer’ana and Jorgan, the Major and her Captain had an opportunity to assess their new member. 

“Huntress alive, they’ve sent us a **baby**!” 

The admittedly young and rather insulted looking blond was tall, thankfully not the giant that Cormac was, and fairly strong looking. With his Republic issue gear decked out in full forest camo and a heavy looking assault cannon slung over his other shoulder, the kid was the picture of military professionalism. The large scar on the kid’s face drew less attention than the Havoc Squad tattoo over his right eye and Jorgan made a mental note to ask about the tattoo. It looked pretty new and so at odds with the rest of his appearance. But it was the sight of the bulky cannon that made Zeer’ana grin evilly. 

“S’about time there was another commando with an assault cannon specialty on this bucket of bolts. You able to use that monster kid?” 

“Yessir. The assault cannon’s been my primary weapon of choice since I passed my basic weapons training.” 

Zeer’ana nodded as she accepted a datapad from Jorgan, activating it to find the newbie’s full records. Her eyebrows raised and she looked over the datapad at the younger soldier. 

“Eyaytir Vhett? Huh … top marks in training, passed all classes with honors, commendations from training sergeants … extra classes … jeeze kiddo did you give yourself time to fucking **breathe**?” 

A dark flush spread across dark cheeks and Eyaytir shifted slightly on his feet, his eyes focusing on the wall behind Zeer’ana. 

“I … I just wanted to do well sir ...” 

Zeer’ana hummed thoughtfully as she scan-read Eyaytir’s scores, mindful that to read them aloud would probably make the kid even more embarrassed. Not that success was anything to be embarrassed about but the lad seemed pretty shy. And why wouldn’t he be? He was surrounded by far more experienced soldiers with their own impressive track records; coming into an environment like this with next to no prep was probably quite a jarring experience. 

“Yeah; well looks like you did more than just ‘well’ lad. It takes a lot to impress those old bastards in the Academy … I should know.” 

Setting the ‘pad aside for a later full read; Zeer’ana whistled loudly to summon the rest of Havoc from whatever nooks and crannies they were currently hiding in. Vodi and Elara didn’t take long to pop up from the medbay, with Forex clanking cheerfully behind them as they chattered to a thankfully patient Yuun. Vik as usual took his sweet fucking time emerging from his bunk while Cormac quickly finished his caf and darted out of the kitchen. Folding her arms and smirking at the suddenly nervous look on Eyaytir’s face, Zeer’ana laughed low in her throat before turning to face the rest of Havoc and planting her hands on her hips. 

“We got us a nice new shiny rookie guys. Still, he’s ranked already at Sergeant so Vik,” She pinned the lounging Weequay in place with a vicious glare. “I hear of you giving him grief there’s gonna be hell to pay.” 

The insolent grin made her eyes narrow … but she left it be. Vik’s bad attitude towards anyone ranking above him … or equal to him actually … would be a good test of how Eyaytir handled difficult individuals. Zeer’ana looked over her shoulder and gestured for Eyaytir to come stand next to her. He looked hilariously small standing next to her despite there being maybe a few inches difference in their heights if that. 

“Kid welcome to Havoc Squad; the best SpecForce pack of maniacs this side of the Hydian Way. You’ve already met my XO Scope, Captain Aric Jorgan. Sniper specialist with over three dozen confirmed kills to his name. Then you’ve got our medics, Kolto and Stitch - Lieutenant Dorne and Sergeant Corr. Be nice or they’ll make a pretty mess of you and I can, have and **will** look the other way.” 

Jorgan rolled his eyes as Dorne nodded cordially and Vodi gave a cheerful wave in Eyaytir’s direction. The young trooper just seemed stunned and more than a little intimidated as Zeer’ana forged on; gesturing to a bulky Weequay that was grinning at the new arrival like a nexu after a nerf calf. 

“You’ve also got Blastzone and Fixer - Specialist Vik and Lieutenant Yuun; our war droid Forex and Captain Balic ‘Beachhead’ Cormac who’s on loan to SpecForce as part of an alliance exchange with Alderaan.” A brief pause for breath and a quick look around gave Eyaytir a little time to try and make sense of everything before Zeer’ana started speaking again. “And our EOD specialist Match: Sergeant Balkar is currently off on a supply run. You’ll see him when he gets back.” 

Zeer’ana turned to face the wide-eyed Eyaytir properly, a lazy and amused look playing over her features as the newbie looked around at the assembled soldiers. She also registered the curious look in his eyes as he looked at Cormac and smirked to herself. Vodi might get to fulfil her secondary calling of matchmaker after all. 

“And then you have me obviously. Major Zeer’ana Paran, codename Meteor ...” 

“Heh.” Vik snickered into his fist. “That’s ‘cause you hit like a fekkin’ meteor … sir.” The Weequay quickly tacked the sir on the end at an evil look from Zeer’ana and raised his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say that was a **bad** thing! Shutting up now.” 

“You only know what I hit like ‘cause you’ve been on the bloody **receiving end** Vik so stop running your mouth before I punch **another** tooth out.” 

Any further banter was quickly stopped by the rather insistent beeping of a priority one holocall. Zeer’ana’s relaxed stance vanished in an instant and the Cathar was abruptly all business. 

“Introductions will have to be finished later. Fixer, take the newbie and get him a bunk. Everyone else make yourselves scarce; if it’s who I’m hoping it is then you do not want to end up in the firing line.” 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

“Just **who do you think you are** , Major?” 

Vodi winced and quickly shut the door. General Garza’s tone was pure ice, and that was not something they needed to expose the rookie to right now. It hadn’t taken long for him to get his gear stowed away; and now he was looking around the general recreation/sparring area with some interest. The medic grinned, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief, as she noticed that Cormac’s eyes were following Eyaytir around the room. The two would make a cute couple in her opinion. But then there was Match as well. The EOD trained sergeant had just boarded the Thunderclap, totally absorbed in the datapad he was reading and not even paying attention as he barely avoided colliding with the doorframe. Vodi was tempted to call out and spook him so she could make introductions, but decided that making the new kid feel a little more comfortable took priority. 

“So Rookie. How’d you even get selected for Havoc Squad? Must have been something that had the brass send you to us.” 

Eyaytir looked up and over at the medic, standing a little closer to attention when he realised he was being addressed. 

“To be honest ma’am I’m not sure. I just got orders to report to Havoc Squad asap-” 

“ **Fine**! **We’ll do the stupid mission, General, but that’s my family missing out there and while you can stop me from taking the leave you can’t stop me from looking for them while I’m still following your damn orders**!” 

Everyone in the recreation area jumped (Match actually dropping his datapad with an undignified yelping sound) as the door slammed open and Zeer’ana stormed through, viciously slamming the door behind her on a closing holocall. The Cathar was clearly furious, her blue eyes blazing and her words little more than a livid hiss. 

“Scope go prep the hyperdrive. The powers that be dictate that we’re going to Voss whether we like it or not. Rookie, I suggest you get used to being in Havoc pretty damn quick ‘cause we’re heading into your first mission **right now**.” 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

“Why does everyone keep calling me Rookie sir?” 

Zeer’ana crouched to examine a footprint, hiding her smirk in the process. The kid was good: quick-thinking and definitely living up to his academy scores. But there was still that shiny newness about him … like a little akk dog puppy. It was kinda cute in a way. 

“Sir?” 

Humming as she stood and logged the tracks on their map, Zeer’ana shrugged lazily. 

“You’re new and you haven’t earned a name yet. So until you do, Rookie it is.” 

She bit back a giggle at the tired sigh. The kid would soon learn how they did things in Havoc; chances are that he’d earn a code name before he’d been with them a year at the rate Garza was sending them on missions. And speaking of missions. 

“We’ll need to move onto the next possible Imp site, there’s nothing here for us that really proves Imperial activity and I’d rather stay as far away from Voss-Ka and the good Senator for as long as possible.” 

Let the stuck-up, privilege-abusing **git** eavesdropping on them back in the relative safety of the Ambassadorial Commons swallow **that** … hopefully he’d choke on it too. Zeer’ana absolutely **despised** self-serving bureaucrats like the dear Senator, but offending the man too much would have Garza on her back so she’d play nice…for now. Walking up to the crest of the tree-covered hill, she leaned against a particularly scrubby looking tree and dug her macronoculars out of her pack to scan for any Imperial transmitters. It was just herself, the kid, Scope and Stitch on this little milk run; Zeer'ana just hadn't seen the point of bringing the whole of Havoc out on a fact finding mission. That really would have been overkill. Also it meant she could have some of her team using their contacts to try and find any hints as to the locations of her missing brother and cousin. Match had even agreed to pester his younger brother until the SIS asshole lent them a hand too. Now if only Stitch would stop trying to wind the kid up by poking him with a particularly long stick she’d found … Zeer’ana grit her teeth in annoyance when she heard more grumbled bitching over the comm’s. 

“Stitch I swear to the Huntress herself if you don’t quit it with that shit …” 

Her ears twitched when her keen hearing picked up rustling in the trees above her; but she ignored it. Trees made noise all the time. But … but they certainly didn’t **growl**. Zeer’ana looked up just in time to register a red blade before a black blur dropped out of the tree above her. Zeer'ana swore loudly and only years of training and instincts saved her from being decapitated as she dropped to the ground and rolled away. Her cannon clanked awkwardly against her back and she struggled back to her feet with a growl. 

“ **Kark it**!” 

She could hear the rest of her small team pounding up the hill to her position and threw a hand out in warning. 

“Keep your distance! It’s a Sith!” 

And the trees were just tightly packed enough that her cannon just wasn’t an option. She swore loudly again as she dodged a brutal lightsaber strike; doing her level best to keep the trees between her and her adversary. Pulling her side arm, she desperately fired off a few wild shots as she worked her way around to where Scope, Stitch and the rookie were setting up. 

“We need a plan to deal with this fucker.” 

“How about **try not to get killed**?! That’s a good plan.” 

Zeer’ana rolled her eyes and cut a glare at Stitch. **Really**? **Now**?! 

“Not the time Stitch!” 

The Mirialan barely had the time to roll her eyes when she was abruptly knocked sideways and into a tree with a startled shout. Even as the others ran to her aid, the invisible Force lifted the slim medic again and slammed her into the tree with considerably more power than the first time. The body simply could not take abuse like that without reacting and Stitch’s eyes rolled back into her head as she passed out. While the rookie checked on the downed medic, both Zeer’ana and Scope turned to face the advancing Sith as they melted out of the trees, yellow eyes hollow and emotionless. They were dressed all in black: black armor, black hood, black mask covering their face from the nose down, black lightsaber hilt … the only visible colors at all were the Sith’s eyes and the red lightsaber blade. Zeer’ana snarled defiantly and slammed a new charge pack into her pistol. 

“I don’t know who the **fuck** you are! But you’re messing with Havoc Squad. Leave. **Now**. And maybe you won’t get yourself dead.” 

The Sith just tilted their head and looked at her. It felt strange; the way that her adversary was looking at her. Some small part of her was sure they knew that look and yet at the same time it was totally alien. But it mattered not. What mattered right now was keeping her distance from the stabby glow stick and preferably killing or driving the fekker away. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Leonar desperately slammed himself against the wall of Dark Side energy keeping him imprisoned in his own head; ignoring the pain that shot through him every single time he ricocheted off the roiling black cloud. He didn’t **want** to fight his cousin! And he certainly didn’t want to kill her! Yeah sure they hadn’t been on speaking terms for long … still weren’t really … but she had been the only one of the four of them who had been willingly kept by their birth pride and had yet given it all up to try and find him, Leona and Zeron; and join the Republic war effort. Leonar almost regretted the snarky comments he’d thrown every time an excited Zeron had shown him yet another article detailing Zeer’ana’s antics as the commanding officer of Havoc Squad. Almost. Their constant bitching back and forth had become something of an endearment. And yet now; as he was forced to watch his possessed body ready the single red blade that the Emperor had deigned to shove in his hand (and how he was disgusted by the lightsaber; it reeked of the Dark Side, and the crystal was dull, artificial and silent) against his cousin … he wished he could take every single biting comment back and tell her that he really did give a damn. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

“Rookie check on Stitch! Scope with me.” 

Commands barked, Zeer’ana tossed a cryo grenade at the advancing Sith, hoping to at least slow them down a little. She didn’t expect it to be so casually batted aside though like an annoying fly to explode against an unfortunate tree. She grit her teeth in frustration and realised that staying out of stab range really wasn’t an option. Not when her opponent could so easily swat blaster fire and grenades aside as though they were mere nuisances. Damn but she hated facing off against Sith! There was no such thing as fair in war but the advantage that the Force gave the Sith definitely strayed close to being bloody unfair! The Sith just seemed to be treating their attacks as little more than contemptuous nuisances, swatting aside a rifle shot before reaching out and using the Force to grip Jorgan by the throat. 

“ **Scope**!” 

The sounds of her lover and second in command’s choked wheezes rang in her ears as Zeer’ana decided to throw caution to the wind. She threw another grenade but this time ran forward with it, closing the gap and making the Sith choose between continuing to throttle Jorgan, dealing with her, or deflecting the explosives. They chose to deflect the grenade and she slammed bodily into them with a solid crack of armor on armor as they tumbled back and down the hillside. Inarticulate snarls rumbled from both the trooper and the Sith as they punched and kicked at each other, still rolling until a rock near the base of the hill put a painful and abrupt halt to their downward descent. Zeer’ana rolled away with a low groan of pain, shaking her head to clear it. Her field cap had been lost somewhere during her little tumble and the tie she used to keep her hair back had snapped; leaving the dark blond locks to tangle and fall about her face as she unsteadily got to her feet to face her opponent. Spotting the Sith she paused and blinked. Then blinked again. She probably had a concussion right? The Sith’s mask had been knocked off, probably by the impact of their face meeting the rock, and their hood had fallen away to reveal their face. But that face … she knew that they’d been captured by the Empire well over three months ago … but to have changed so much already? To have abandoned everything and defected? Zeer’ana stumbled a step forward; blue eyes wide and searching the brown striped gold face and unfamiliar yellow eyes watching her. 

“L- … Leonar?” 

Then a pain unlike anything she had ever felt suddenly exploded across her middle and she fell back with a scream of agony; both hands gripping at the seared gash across her stomach. A range of emotions flashed through her: fear, sheer excruciating agony in it’s purest form, alarm and anger. Unrelenting, burning **anger**. The bastard had just tried to fucking **gut** her?! Estranged or not, they were **family**! You didn’t just try and kill family like that! At least, not without a damn good reason. Gritting her teeth as a white wall of pain threatened to overtake her, Zeer’ana rolled over and braced her shoulders and knees against the dry compact dirt of Voss. She could hear that lightsaber in her cousin’s … no … no **not** her cousin. Her cousin might have been the biggest fucking **jerk** to have left Tython but even he wouldn’t just try and kill her and her squad like this. The **Sith**. That’s who she was fighting. She could hear the lightsaber in the Sith’s hand humming dangerously close even as she struggled to get back up. She was **strong**! She was **not** going to die here! **Not** like this! 

“ **Duck sir**!” 

Training had Zeer’ana respond to the loud shout and the heavy pounding of armored boots before her brain actually managed to comprehend what was going on as she dropped back into an undignified heap on the ground. Pain shot through her injured abdomen again as a boot just skimmed the tip of one pointed ear before there was a seething snarl and once again the sound of bodies crashing together echoing around the valley. Rolling over, she could see the rookie ( **stupid** kid! What the **hells** was he thinking?!) grappling with the Sith. The smell of ozone suddenly permeated everything as the Sith shot lightning at the young trooper, making the kid fall back to avoid being electrocuted and grab something off his belt. He recklessly rushed the Sith again, scrabbling to one side to avoid a wild lightsaber swing before crowding the Sith back against the rocks at the base of the hill. Zeer’ana idly noted that staying as close to the Sith as physically possible appeared to be a sound strategy; it made using that fucking irritating glowstick damn near impossible and evened up the playing field. Even so, the rookie was gonna get himself killed if he kept this up. 

“Don’t be a hero, Rookie!” Zeer’ana grit her teeth and did her best to struggle to her feet, almost falling over before a solid hand grabbed her arm and prevented the embarrassing action. She didn’t have to look to see who it was; the only one strong enough to grab her like that and not fall over was Jorgan. The sniper XO helped Zeer’ana upright and let her lean against him as she railed again on the rookie. “ **Dammit Sergeant Vhett fall back now**! **That’s a fucking order, trooper**!” 

“With … with the … **oh will you shabbing die already**?! All due respect sir, that ain’t gonna happen!” 

Eyaytir grit his teeth and used his superior height to force the Cathar Sith back against the rocks again; jamming his arm against the hissing and snarling warrior’s neck to pin him in place. Just a few more seconds … these new plasma grenades had a fairly adjustable time delay but he’d been in a bit of a rush. And speaking of; he spared a brief glance at the grenade in his hand and swore the most foul of Huttese curses he knew. He’d fucking mistimed the damn thing; there was no way that he’d get out of the blast radius before it went off. Shit. 

“Get outta here sir! This baby’s gonna blow any second and ya **won’t** like the results!” 

He shoved the Sith back against the rocks again; jamming the grenade into their belt before scrambling back and away to try and gain clearance. The Sith paused, stumbling and shaking his head in what might have been confusion; but that brief hesitation was more than enough. The grenade’s almost disturbingly cheerful ‘ding’ was soon drowned out by the roar of compressed and highly volatile materials igniting into a seething fireball. The pressure wave that accompanied the explosion sent all the soldiers to the ground; and obliterated the rocks behind the Sith as the stench of burning hair invaded the air. As Eyaytir picked himself up, wincing at the feeling of hot armor rubbing against his burnt skin; he saw that somehow … somehow the Sith had survived. They were scorched and definitely crispy around the edges, their armor rent and torn and any exposed skin raw and red with burns. Staggering like a drunkard, the Sith just stared at them with burning eyes full of hate before he pressed a hand to his forehead with a pained snarl creasing his striped features. For a moment his expression changed; hate morphing into pain and … and sorrow? Eyaytir couldn’t tell, the Sith’s face twisting back into that hateful grimace before he could really get a look. The yellow-eyed Cathar glared at the Havoc soldiers a heartbeat longer before turning and fleeing across the valley; vanishing into the trees on the other side. 

“ **Kark it**. He got away.” 

Eyaytir blinked at the hand that had been shoved into his face and quickly accepted it, yelping as he was roughly hauled to his feet by Scope. He winced at the angry look on his commanding officers’ faces and ducked his head in readiness for whatever punishment they decided to dish out. Instead though, Zeer’ana just sighed and slapped Eyaytir’s shoulder before letting her weight rest back against Jorgan’s shoulder. Huntress, she hurt right now. 

“Go pick Stitch up from wherever you stashed her, Plasma, while I call Match for a transport and alert Kolto that we have wounded inbound.” 

“Yessir.” 

Eyaytir turned and ran back up the hill, stumbling awkwardly when it hit him what he’d been called. ‘Plasma’ … a grin stretched across the young sergeant’s tanned face as he picked up the pace. The major had called him **Plasma**! Not Rookie, not kid; not anything that said he was still an outsider. He’d earned a **name**! 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Fuck that had **hurt**! Leonar didn’t know how Vitiate had managed it, but he could feel every bit of pain his possessed body was in despite not being in control. That fucking grenade had scorched him up pretty good; and he was sure that his body was nursing a fair few broken bones from the beating he’d received from Zeer’ana and that other Republic soldier as well as the grenade’s pressure wave. But the pain was worth it; he’d learned a lot. Like the little fact that Vitiate’s control seemed to weaken ever so slightly the further away he was. It had weakened enough to allow Leonar the briefest moment of control to try and stop his body’s rampage and give the soldier time to gather himself and fight. But that returned control hadn’t lasted long before he was blasted back into this little prison in his own skull. The grenade going off had again shaken his body enough for him to rally for a second attempt … at least so he could try and tell Zeer’ana he was so, so **sorry**. But that second try for regaining control lasted even less time than the first. And now his body was retreating, scrambling through the trees to that small craft that would ferry him back to the Emperor. Growling in frustration, Leonar started to pace the confines of his mental prison again. Vitiate would undoubtedly try and make his living nightmare even worse now … but it was worth it to see that his family was still alive. 

*** 

“It’s no good. We’re gonna have ta split up or they’ll nab us fer sure.” 

“Fine. Ya nick a ship and take Mako, Blizz and Gault. I’ll keep the Mantis, Torian and Thessa.” 

Until very recently, life had been on the up and up for Leona Paran. She’d won the Great Hunt alongside an old gladiator partner (oh who was she kidding? The guy was practically a brother to her. Certainly closer than her actual brother at any rate) of hers and the two of them had been adopted by no less than the Mandalore himself. The Black List had given her and her crew access to a wealth of credits and enough good fights that they’d actually had to take another hunter onto the crew. Thankfully Blizz had more than proven his worth, especially when it came to weapons and ship maintenance which had saved more than a few of their credits. Gault had finally stopped whining that they were bleeding credits after Blizz modified the hyperdrive to maximum fuel efficiency. Hell even her relationship with Torian and Thessa was slowly growing into something more than one born Mandalorian helping one adopted into the culture integrate properly and a jealousy ridden rivalry. 

But Leona should’ve known that the good times wouldn’t last forever. The murders of the other Great Hunt Champions and the attempt to kill her thanks to one stupid _Jetii_ ’s fucking petty vendetta against her and Ta’lan over one stinking job … well to be honest if it had only been that then she’d have probably gotten over it eventually. But a ten million credit bounty each on both her’s and Ta’lan’s heads and making them out to be some mindless terrorists with a ton of fake charges stacked up against their names?! That was just excessive; and it really pissed her off. Even Mandalore couldn’t protect the two of them from this mess, at least not publicly. The funds he’d sent had been appreciated though, and they’d split up to reduce their chances of capture. Last she knew; Ta’lan was working for some Sith named Tormen over on Corellia. Good for him; at least the moron would probably get a moderately decent amount of credits. The Empire were backstabbers but they always paid well and promptly. Which was why she’d accepted this dumb job on Belsavis in the first place. The prison planet gave her the creeps, and the constant looking over her own shoulder was giving her a damn crick in her neck. Her surly grumbling eventually caught her boyfriend’s attention and Torian smiled that good natured grin of his at her. 

“Could be worse, _cyare_. We could be back on that stinking rakghoul pit Taris. Or **worse** , Quesh.” 

Leona grunted her agreement, not even bothering to look as she nailed a probe droid through its’ single beady ‘eye’ with her blaster. Quesh had truly sucked; the poisonous planet’s stench lingering in her armor for a week after she’d concluded business there. It had been even worse than the stench of that rakghoul repellent mixture that Torian had mixed up on Taris and that’s saying something. Sometimes it really sucked to have the advanced senses of her species. Not to mention the poisons in the atmosphere had aggravated her scars; especially the ancient as Sith brands scarring her shoulder. Just thinking about the pain made Leona want to rub her shoulder and she let out a low growl to distract herself. 

“True enough. I just wanna get Barrows and then get off this stinking planet though; place is just putting me on edge.” 

She paused as they entered a small clearing eroded away by years of prisoner foot traffic. There had been all kinds of noises filling the audio sensors on her helmet: animals, prisoners, blaster fire, Imperial and Republic troops alike. But not here. Here it was unsettlingly quiet. The sounds of her's and Torian's breathing were painfully loud in the silence and Leona slowly started to reach for her blaster. 

"I don't like this, _cyare_." Torian pulled his electrostaff off his shoulder. "It's too quiet. I smell an ambush." 

A crack echoing out like a slugthrower's recoil had both Mandalorians whipping around in alarm; a vibroblade sliding out of Leona's gauntlet with the rasping sound of metal on metal. They both stared at the suspiciously innocent third member of their little party as she slowly lifted her foot off the broken branch. 

“Oops.” 

Leona growled in annoyance, her vibroblade retracting back into its sheath as she stomped over to the grinning Chiss and thwacked the back of her head, giving no regards to the loud whining she got. 

“ _Di_ ’ _kut_! What if I’d shot ya eh?” 

“Awwww you’re no fun.” 

Thessa grumbled as she rubbed the back of her head where Leona had smacked her. “And you didn’t have to hit me so hard y’know.” 

“Suck it up ya big baby.” 

Thessa stuck her tongue out at her girlfriend and pouted before stomping past the smirking Cathar. 

“Meanie. And why’d you send Blizz with Ta’lan anyway? I miss my cuddle buddy. Plus this planet sucks.” 

Leona rolled her eyes and shared a long suffering look with Torian as they followed after the griping Chiss. Thessa’s constant string of complaints at least broke the silence but after a while it did start to wear a bit on the nerves. Leona’s eye twitched sharply and she clenched her fists to avoid smacking the smallest member of their relationship again. 

“Blueberry … **I swear ta the ‘Untress if ya don’t stop whinin’ I’ll send ya back ta the ship**!” 

Thessa pouted and folded her arms with a sulky huff. Anyone would think she was a teenager and not an experienced bounty hunter. But her playful mood was one of the things that Leona loved about her little Blueberry, unless it was causing problems on the job. Like now. Sighing and shaking her head; Leona just followed on after the irritated Chiss. 

“Look babe. Sooner we get this job done the sooner we can go ‘kay? If ya really ‘ate it ‘ere so much then go see if ya can get a ‘old of Ta’lan and the others back on the Mantis.” 

Thessa eyed her suspiciously before groaning and throwing her head back and turning around to stomp off back towards the ship. 

“Ugh **fine**! But only ‘cause it’ll get me away from this dumb old prison sector!” 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Zeron was becoming **sick** and tired of being a back seat passenger in his own body; but it didn’t seem like he had much of a choice. He had seen what any hint of open defiance would bring; Leonar had been subject to the Emperor’s displeasure on the subject on a near daily basis before they had been sent out on their ‘assignments.’ How long had it been since their capture? Weeks? Months even? When one’s world consisted solely of a small corner of one’s mindscape the passage of time became skewed and difficult to follow. He had chosen to spend most of that time therefore through meditation, focusing on his little corner of the Light Side of the Force and keeping his shields up enough that the Dark Side clouding the rest of his mind didn’t overcome and swamp him. He knew that if his shields were to be overcome by the Dark Side then there’d be no going back for him … that he’d be trapped under the Emperor’s control until someone put him out of his misery. He would not let that happen. He couldn’t. But nor could he let his body carry out the mission that the Emperor had assigned. To kill his own cousin in cold blood … it just went against everything he ever believed in. But then, that was the point wasn’t it? Zeron shook his head and let out a low bitter laugh that echoed around his mindscape. The Emperor sure had a sick sense of humor, sending him and Leonar to destroy the other’s twins like this. He knew what would happen if he did succeed in killing Leona … and he knew he had to stop it. But **how**? 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

“Leona! Fuckssake you arrogant bitch c’mon pick **up**! Leona! **Huntress dammit Leona fucking Paran answer the fucking COM now**!” 

Leona yelped and swore loudly as noise abruptly exploded into her helmet; muting her external speakers quickly before Torian overheard anything. Biting the inside of her cheek to avoid saying anything she might eventually regret; she checked her HUD to see who had the temerity to speak to her in such a fashion. She wasn’t surprised when she saw who was calling. It was the highly encrypted family channel that only three others had access to … and two of those three were currently missing. A blink allowed the call to connect and she growled right back at the angry tones echoing around her helmet. 

“ **Maybe scream a li’l louder trooper girl; I don’t think they quite ‘eard ya on Korriban**!” 

“Screw you cousin. This is **important**.” 

Something in her cousin’s tone had Leona pause, her irritation bleeding away into concern. Something wasn’t right. Well, to be honest things had to be pretty bad for them to even use this damn frequency; but … but something was seriously wrong this time. She could feel it. 

“Zeer?” 

“Have you heard **anything** ; and I mean **anything** ; about what happened to the Jedi that launched that attack on the Emperor’s fortress? The one our idiot brothers were involved in.” 

Leona couldn’t help but stumble; throwing out a hand to ward off Torian’s concerned advances as she righted herself. She hadn’t actually. No one had. Information that juicy should’ve been on the lips of every broker if you had the credits but instead there had been silence. Just whispers that the attack had been an assassination attempt; and even those whispers were kept on the down low. 

“No … no I ‘aven’ … wha’cha gettin’ at Zeer?” 

There was a low pain-filled sigh that rattled and rasped across the COM channel, and that more than anything kicked Leona’s concern level up a notch. For her SpecForce cousin to sound so tired, so full of pain, so … so vulnerable … whatever she had to say had to be pretty damn serious. 

“Leona … me and some of my squad just got attacked by a Sith. We drove him off but not before I got a good look at his face.” The pregnant pause had Leona just wishing her cousin was there so she could make the other Cathar just spit out whatever she had to say. “Leona … aw fek Leona it was **Leonar**. The Sith that tried to kill me was Leonar.” 

This time when Leona stumbled she didn’t catch herself in time; dropping to her knees in a muddy puddle as white noise threatened to overtake her. No … no not her brother … not her asshole runt of a twin; he just wouldn’t … 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Zeron **hated** that he couldn’t force his body to react when he saw Leona fall to her knees; her despair screaming out into the Force. He knew that his cousin had done a lot of bad things--illegal things--and was a killer … but she didn’t deserve this. No one did. And yet he couldn’t comfort her, not even through the Force. Couldn’t place a hand on her shoulder and tell her that they were still alive, that they were both fighting (he still remembered Vitiate’s last reaction to their defiance … both he and Leonar were now the reluctant owners of some nasty tree branch like Force Lightning scars up their arms)--that she wasn’t alone in the Galaxy. Instead he was but a spectator in his own skin; forced to watch as his possessed body slunk through the shadows like a wraith towards the two hunters. The Sith armor was uncomfortable: the plates biting into his skin and the heavy fabric making things miserably warm. If this was what Sith wore on a regular basis then no wonder most were half mad. He’d probably have gone insane too if he was forced to wear this monstrosity on a daily basis. But back to the problem at hand. Namely that his body was now crouched in preparation to spring at the currently distracted bounty hunters, lightsaber already in hand. Zeron scoffed quietly and sat back in his mental prison to meditate again. Mandalorians were infamous throughout the Galaxy for their skill at dispatching Force-sensitives of all stripes and affiliations; why Vitiate thought that a single possessed Jedi could take on a Great Hunt Champion like Leona was anyone’s guess. But then again the Sith Emperor was arrogant in his power and arrogance bred mistakes. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Her instincts had always been one of her greatest strengths. At least that had been what Old Man J’mee had told her back on Nar Shaddaa when he’d supervised the training of the youngest gladiators in the Pits. It was her instincts now that told her to duck; letting the blur of black and red skim over the top of her helmet and hit the ground with a rough thud. Leona snarled and drew her blaster; hanging up on Zeer'ana even as she drew a bead on her attacker. 

"Keep yer distance 'til we get a electro dart in 'im, _cyare_!" 

Leona roughly gestured at Torian to stay back as their dark armored adversary whirled around to face them. A single red lightsaber ignited with that all too familiar 'snap hiss' and Torian let out a startled outburst in Mando'a. 

" _Dar_ ' _jetii_!" 

Leona ignored the outburst (she was thinking something a damn sight worse than that anyway) and kept her attention laser focused on the Sith. She had fought enough Force-sensitives to know that to take your eyes off them was to sign your own death warrant. And she wasn't in the mood to die today. The Sith darted forward and Leona brought her flamethrower up with a snarl; sending jets of burning propellant straight at the Dark Side user’s face and forcing them back. 

“Torian ge’ a hold of Thessa! We need dets **now**!” 

Thermal detonators to force the Sith to keep their distance and distract them so that a blaster shot was more likely to penetrate. Leona couldn’t help but think about that slug thrower that she’d passed up on the chance to buy and swore quietly. Slug throwers were old, insanely fucking expensive and had a much shorter lifespan than regular blasters; but the metal shot created lots of shrapnel even when smacked by a lightsaber. But there was no point now in wishing for what she could have when right now she needed to focus on what she actually had. Which was her blaster, a vibroblade in her left gauntlet, a mostly full flamethrower and her half empty carbonite attachment, along with a few spare blaster charge packs, a knife and a single hypo of sedative that she kept in a small compartment in her boot as a last resort measure. Gritting her teeth in a feral snarl, she moved counter to the Sith’s predatory circling movements, refusing to let him get behind her. As Torian moved the other way to split the Sith’s attention, Leona’s mind was a whirl of anger and anticipation. After all, if her twin had been sent after Zeer’ana … and both Leonar and Zeron had gone missing … then logic would dictate … 

“Torian! Ge’ ‘is mask off ‘im! I need ta know who ‘e is!” 

The raised eyebrow she got was a classic but Torian didn’t object … thankfully. With Leona firing on the Sith to draw his attention towards her, Torian worked his way behind the Sith and raised his electrostaff. Gritting his teeth and hoping he’d be able to get out of the way in time should the Sith turn on him, he brought the electrostaff down across the back of the Sith’s hooded head with a fierce crack. The young hunter jumped back as the Sith stumbled forward, dropping to his knees as with a weak pneumatic hiss his mask dropped to the ground. Keeping her blaster trained on the Sith; Leona warily approached the downed Force user, a frown twisting her scars when she saw blood dripping onto the mask. 

“Jeeze babe; d’ya ‘ave ta crack ‘im tha’ ‘ard?” 

The Sith erupted up in a blur of motion, catching Leona around the neck in an iron grip and squeezing ruthlessly. The Cathar let out a choked cry, hands instantly rising to grapple with the gauntlet choking her. The Sith’s hood fell back as he lifted Leona enough that her toes were struggling to stay on the ground; revealing the freckled and elaborately marked features of her cousin. Only … only it **wasn’t** her cousin, not really. For a start, like his own twin, Zeron had hyperspace blue eyes, not eyes the same sickly almost evil yellow as the eyes glaring up at her now. Nor had her cousin’s fur been this charred and unkempt the last time she saw holos of him. And he definitely didn’t have vicious cuts from that mask that were still raw and bleeding, staining his fur with his own blood as he tried to choke the life out of her. Leona growled weakly, kicking and gasping for air as she fought to breathe. Then air. Sweet, sweet air. Leona dropped roughly to the ground, coughing and gasping as she gulped air into her screaming lungs. Looking around blearily, she found Torian slamming his fists again and again into Zeron’s face, an inarticulate snarl of fury on his handsome features. Leona shook her head in an attempt to clear it as she struggled to her feet, swaying like a drunkard. Her idiot needed to get clear; he had surprise on his side for now but that would not last. Already she could see that the Sith wearing her cousin’s face was starting to gather himself; more and more of Torian’s hits were being blocked rather than hit home. 

“Torian don’ be a ‘ero ya _di’kut_!”. 

In the end; Torian wasn’t even given the option of whether or not to continue as he was violently thrown away from the Sith and into the dirt. The Sith scrambled to his feet, a feral snarl of rage on his bruised and bloodied face as he took a running leap onto a fallen tree; using it to push off and drop down hard onto Torian. The sound of bones cracking and Torian’s scream spurred Leona back into action, the Cathar roaring loudly to get her adversary’s attention. The Sith turned slowly to face her, his face twisting in a bloodied sneer. Leona clenched her fists and stood her ground, refusing to back down. Just because they were related and he had appeared to have switched sides … it didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try and **beat him half to death**! 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Zeron winced as his body shot forward to collide with Leona’s with the dull painful thud of durasteel on beskar. He didn’t want to do this; he didn’t want to be made to kill her! But whatever the Sith Emperor had done to him to trap him in his own head like this appeared to be stronger than cortosis. Believe him; he’d tried … oh **how** he’d tried … but every angle he took, every trick in his not inconsiderable repertoire, every minute of meditation … **nothing** seemed to breach the walls trapping him. Not to mention without his bond with Leonar … it was like someone had cut one of his arms off. They had functioned for so long as a team that being alone like this … it hurt. But not as much as it did in that singular moment when a burning pain blossomed across his cheek as a vibroblade sliced his cheek open almost to the bone. He winced as his body tensed before rocketing forwards, hoping that his cousin would be able to drive him off before someone got killed. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Leona had to jump back as the Sith launched himself at her, dropping to her knees and spinning around so that she was facing his back while he stumbled clumsily to a halt. Quickly blinking a command into her HUD she activated her jetpack which coughed into life. Making a mental note to clean out the air intakes once this whole shit show was over, Leona jumped forward and grabbed the back of the Sith’s head with both hands. Growling fiercely, she brought her knee up as she dragged the other Cathar’s head down; his nose connecting with her armored knee with a sickening crack. As her turncoat relative’s head snapped back and he stumbled away, Leona deactivated her jetpack and drew her blaster pistol again, taking aim at his chest. Behind her helmet, her face twisted with conflict and she redirected her aim at his leg before firing. The Sith dropped to one knee with a howl that sent chills down both her’s and Torian’s spines and he looked at the two hunters with such loathing it made both Mandalorians flinch. The Sith angrily threw his hands out, using the Force to send both Torian and Leona tumbling head over heels backwards and into the dirt. Leona was the first one to clumsily clamber to her feet; Torian not far behind her as he spat mud out of his mouth. 

“This … bleh … this isn’t working _cyare_.” 

Leona growled and fired a warning shot at the injured Sith, forcing him to limp a few steps back. 

“ **Ya thin’ I don’ know tha’**?! Where da **‘ell** is Thessa?!” 

Leona’s angry kvetching was cut off by a small explosion in the Sith’s vicinity, sending him falling back with a cry. An adrenaline fueled giggle sounded across Leona’s COM’s unit. A very familiar adrenaline fueled giggle. 

“You called?” 

“Yer **late** , Blueberry.” Leona crouched slightly in readiness as the Sith picked himself back up, still favoring his wounded leg. “Tell meh tha’ wasn’ our only det?” 

Her answer was a half full crate of thermal detonators and other assorted grenades dropping roughly to the ground in front of her with a heart stopping clatter. Leona tensed in expectation of a fiery explosion before looking up to throw a lethal glare (not the least bit diminished by her helmet if Thessa’s flinch was anything to go by) at the Chiss standing on the open loading ramp. 

“ **Jus’ blow us all up nex’ time why don’ ya**?! An’ who’s flyin’ the ship?!” 

Thessa’s sulky grumbling mumbled down the COM for a moment before she actually gave a coherent answer. 

“The droid’s flying … and I don’ wanna come down where the angry stabby guy is.” 

Leona sighed and tried her best not to roll her eyes. Typical Thessa … but **damn** she loved the Chiss. Even if at times like this Thessa could do with a damn good kick up the shebs in order to get her to take the situation seriously. Grabbing one of the thermal detonators from the crate, she primed it before chucking it in the Sith’s general vicinity before looking back up at the hovering D-5 Mantis. 

“Tell the droid ta brin’ ‘er in low; we’re gettin’ outta ‘ere.” 

If Thessa responded then Leona didn’t have the chance to hear it as the tree she was standing next to let out an abrupt groan and with the snapping of splinters and protesting screeches of overstressed wood started to topple down towards her. Leona looked up at the slowly falling tree in alarm before swearing with enough venom to make a Hutt blush and diving out of the way. The tree missed her … just … but in diving out of the way she had managed to separate herself from Torian, Thessa and the still hovering ship. Growling in frustration; Leona looked through the tangled branches at her family before turning around to glare at the Sith that had slowly started to advance. Deciding she wasn’t going to let him force her into a corner, Leona charged recklessly at him. She dodged the first wild swipe aimed at her head and took advantage of the beskar in her gauntlets to deflect the next clumsy slash before bulling head-on into the Sith. The two Cathar went tumbling to the ground in a blur of violently thrown fists and deep growling snarls. Leona snarled as her helmet was yanked hard enough to damage the seals and she rolled away to give herself enough space to remove the damaged helmet. Throwing it aside into the mud, she bared her fangs in a feral sneer and laughed harshly. 

“Fekkin’ **pathe’ic**. I though’ you _jetii_ an’ _dar_ ’ _jetii_ coul’ **figh’**?!” 

That definitely riled up the Sith pretending to be her cousin, his face contorting and twisting into a truly bloodthirsty snarl of pure rage. Without a moment’s warning he launched himself at Leona in a mindless attempt at wholesale slaughter. Leona laughed angrily, taking a few hits but for the most part expertly weaving her way around the amateurish punches and kicks. Clearly her cousin had taken a sharp drop in intelligence when he went all crazy and shit, at least that was the only rational explanation for why she was kicking his spotted hide back into the mud for the umpteenth time. As she carefully approached; her vibroblade sliding free from its sheath in that tell-tale hiss of metal on metal; she could see that Zeron was starting to seriously struggle. A tormented look twisted his face; hatred, pain, despair and another emotion that Leona could only skeptically identify as sorrow all warring to be the dominant emotion on the Cathar Force user’s face. He swung wildly and clumsily for her legs in a vain attempt to knock her legs out from underneath her but only ended up falling back into the mud again. Setting her jaw stubbornly, Leona roughly kicked Zeron onto his back before crouching and setting her vibroblade to his throat. The two Cathar looked at each other, world-weary and hard jade eyes meeting feral sickly yellow eyes that seemed to look through Leona rather than at her. The clearing was suddenly silent but for the background humming of the Mantis’s engines and the harsh, ragged breathing of the exhausted fighters. Scrutinising her cousin’s face, a fact hit Leona so hard she blinked. 

“Ya … ya don’ even **know** me do ya?” 

Whatever had happened to her cousin … it was clear by the look in his eyes that he had absolutely no idea who she was. And that changed well … everything. Leona shook her head and stood up, her vibroknife retracting back into her gauntlet with a ‘schnickt.’ 

“Nah … I won’ kill ya. It ain’ worth it.” Her eyes turned flinty and she glared down at the other Cathar still lying prone in the dirt and now glaring at her like she was the mass murdering maniac that the Republic had made her out to be. “But come afta meh an’ mine again an’ I won’ be so nice ‘bout it.” 

Zeron slowly got to his feet, swaying unsteadily, and glared angrily at Leona as he held one arm tight to his side. He hissed aggressively before turning and darting off into the forest; his dark armor causing the shadows to swallow him up. Leona watched until she was sure he was gone before dropping to her hands and knees; aggressively punching the ground with one hand. 

“Fek i’ all.” 

*** 

**Failure**! Utter and complete **failure**! Vitiate seethed on his throne as he glared down at the two scorched, wounded and battered Cathar that had been escorted into his throne room and unceremoniously dumped at his feet. With a snarl he hurled Force Lightning at the pair, shivering with delight at their tortured screams. Oh he would make both Jedi pay **dearly** for this. That they had somehow rallied inside their mental prisons and managed to defy him … clearly he had been too lenient and complacent in their education. That would have to be rectified and swiftly before he sent them out into the Galaxy to rain terror on the Republic once again. He savored the pain that rang out into the Force, drawing on it and letting it feed the Dark Side within him before dismissing the lightning as easily as he had called upon it, leaving both of his Cathar puppets panting heavily on the ground. 

“I do **not** suffer failure lightly my Blades. There shall be ... **consequences** … for your failures in enacting my will on the Galaxy.” 

As the bonds he’d forged to bind the duo to his will forced the two Cathar back into their earlier kneeling positions, Vitiate took the opportunity to examine the mental prisons the two Jedi were trapped in. He smiled behind his mask of bandages; they were still so full of stubborn defiance. How cute. That they still thought they could last against his might … oh well. T’was really of no consequence now. They had had their chance to willingly surrender and join him - power such as theirs was utterly wasted on the Jedi. And yet they had refused his generous offer so he had had to resort to more … brutal and uncivilised methods to gain access to their power. And now even those seemed to have failed?! Setting them against their own kin … the deaths of the two other Cathar at the hands of his puppets should have broken them entirely. And yet somehow the soldier and the hunter had not only survived but had driven his puppets into retreating. It made his blood boil. Perhaps … perhaps his Wrath’s idea had held some merit after all. At any rate it was worth reconsidering after this absolute cock up. Vitiate sat back in his throne and waved a hand dismissively at his pet Jedi. 

“Get out of my sight.” 

He had much to reconsider and plan. 

*** 

There was still hope after all. Orgus had to admit that he’d been concerned when Vitiate had sent Leonar and Zeron after each other’s twins; he’d seen what the Emperor had planned. If Zeer’ana and Leona hadn’t survived … well, he’d said it before. A Jedi destroyed by passion could become something terrible. And the knowledge that they’d been responsible for the deaths of each other’s twin siblings … that would have most certainly destroyed the students he’d thought of as sons. Huffing tiredly, he followed the two Cathar as they limped out of Vitiate’s throne room and towards the cell they shared. Maybe now was the time to finally reveal himself to them? If he could help them overcome the possession and break Vitiate’s hold before the Sith decided to try something particularly drastic then maybe the situation could be salvaged. Yes; yes he would do it. He had to; for their sake. But nothing too drastic at first … knowing Vitiate’s control over the two was still strong, Orgus knew he would have to take things nice and slowly. Maybe appear a few times, out of sight of the guards. Either way he would help his former students break free … before Vitiate did something that would ensure there would be no freedom for them. 

*** 

## Epilogue

 **Odessan - Several Years Later**

“He still going at it?” 

Zeer’ana shrugged sharply as she continued to stubbornly ignore the banging, clattering and swearing coming from the droid workshop a few doors down. Carefully she set down the barrel of her assault cannon that she’d been meticulously polishing and selected another one with a low hum before looking up at Vodi. 

“I am **not** my idiot cousin’s keeper, babe. He wants to run himself into the ground then he’s more than welcome to.” 

Vodi winced at the harshness in the Cathar’s tone, the steely set to those gorgeous hyperspace blue eyes. After all this time, was she still really … ? 

“You … are you still angry with him?” 

The Mirialan winced as Zeer’ana’s face twisted into cold rage and she growled; a cold and brutal rasp of a sound that made her shiver … and not in a good way. 

“ **He fekking tried to GUT me Vodi**! He nearly throttled the life outta Aric and tried to kill you too! The only reason we got away was ‘cause Plasma set off a fucking det charge in his face! Fuck of course I’m still **fekking angry**!!” 

Shoving her stripped down cannon aside with a snarl, Zeer’ana shot to her feet and started to pace back and forth in the small space. Instinct had Vodi flattening herself against the wall in order to avoid being ploughed over. This was a side of her lover she hadn’t really seen before … and would be rather happy not seeing again. 

“Z …” 

*** 

Leonar looked up sharply when he heard a distant crashing sound and frowned. He could recognise the anger bleeding into the Force … why shouldn’t he? He knew his cousin’s Force presence almost as well as his own. And he knew damn well why his cousin was angry with him. Looking down at his oil and grease splattered hands, Leonar flinched when for an instant he could see the blood that had once stained them. Zeer’ana’s blood. All because of that Force-damned **nuisance** Vitiate ... Valkorian … fuck whatever the slimy bastard wanted to call himself. Leonar clenched his fists and ground his fangs hard against each other; Valkorian’s laughter echoing in the back of his mind. Zeer’ana had every damn right to be angry with him after what he’d done to her and her squad. 

“Moping isn’t going to make things right with her y’know.” 

Leonar looked up sharply, green eyes narrowing at the lanky figure leaning in his workroom’s doorway. Huntress **above** , did his cousin have it bad for Shan … the slightly older Cathar had yet to actually wear a jacket that wasn’t originally the spy’s since they’d arrived on Odessan and the two had been … reacquainted. 

“I don’t recall asking you, Zeron.” Leonar’s lip curled in a dark sneer. “Besides **you’re** one to talk. Fixed things with my sister yet?” 

Zeron’s blue eyes narrowed for a split second before he laughed bitterly and turned his head to glare out of the door. 

“Turns out there’s one good thing about what the carbonite did to Leona. She doesn’t fucking remember a damn thing about our … encounter. And I’m not particularly inclined to remind her.” 

Leonar sneered and went back to the droid chassis he was working on. If he could fix it then maybe they’d be able to bring HK back and he’d have one less failure to hang over his head. Plus he’d love the look on SCORPIO’s face plates when the sassy bastard of a homicidal murder droid was fixed. Was not if. Leonar refused to believe that there was no way to bring HK-55 back from wherever it was droids went when they were deactivated. 

“No … no I **bet** you aren’t.” 

He sat back on his heels with a frustrated sigh before shaking his head and standing so that he at least didn’t have too far to look up in order to look Zeron in the eye since the bastard refused to do anything but continue blocking his doorway. He could still see traces of what Vitiate had done to them both in Zeron’s eyes--the faintest traces of sulphuric yellow streaking through the otherwise hyperspace blues that the taller and older Cathar shared with his twin, and in the Force Lightning scars that Leonar knew were hidden under Zeron’s stolen jacket. Leonar knew that if he were to look in the mirror he’d find similar remnants of Sith yellow in his own eyes too, regardless of what he’d done in the years since Vitiate had had him under his thrall, and the scars of his defiance every time he removed his armor. Whatever it was that the Sith Emperor had done to them … it had changed them both permanently. One of the Healers back home on Tython had explained it best after they’d been bullied into actually seeing a Healer by a very worried Saja (the snippy young Chiss had refused to take no for an answer until his brother-Padawans received some much needed medical attention). Their Force presences had been scarred and tainted, damaging their ability to access the Light Side of the Force while giving them the very unwanted ability to touch the Dark Side. In other words they’d been left Grey presences; too Dark to remain long on Tython but too Light to last on a world like Korriban without going insane. 

“Stop dwelling on what happened. It doesn’t help.” 

Leonar snapped out of his musings and glowered up at his cousin, lip curling in a sneer at the harsh and exhausted look on Zeron’s face. “Like **you’re** one to talk. Don’t forget cousin: we’ve shared a room since we were kittens. I **know** you asshole, and I know **damn** well that you’re putting that aloof Jedi act on to try and make everyone else think that you’ve got it all together when you **haven’t**! So just …” 

Leonar sighed and turned away; pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes in frustration. 

“Just stop pretending for fucks sake. There’s no one left from the Order who actually has the time to give a **shit** about whether we’re still Dark, back in the Light or stuck somewhere in between. We’re the broken Battlemasters they chose to use and then toss aside when they decided that they didn’t need us anymore okay. So just … just let it go.” 

Zeron frowned, unused to seeing his jerk of a cousin like this. Normally he was the one who thought things through while Leonar just charged in head on and hoped to come out the other side relatively intact. But … but the other Cathar was right. The Jedi … the two Cathar had limped back to Tython hoping to be allowed to recover from their ordeal and rest, to fix both their bodies and their minds. But instead they hadn’t even been given a week before being sent back out to the front lines again to hunt down the other turned Jedi. Bitterness welled up unbidden and Zeron looked away angrily as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. 

“ **Fine**.” 

Fine … he’d stop pretending. He was so sick of being the tarnished golden boy anyway. The Jedi and the Republic … they hadn’t given a damn about him or Leonar. Hell they didn’t even give a damn about Saja and it had almost driven the Chiss straight into the arms of the SIS! Because being scared and worried for those he cared about was apparently wrong. No … the Jedi just used them when they were needed and tossed them aside when they weren’t. 

“Fine I’ll stop hiding. But that doesn’t mean to say I’m going to abandon my responsibilities either.” 

Leonar snorted. Typical Zeron: putting duty before everything else as usual. Responsibilities … **hah**! Leonar had stopped caring about his responsibilities after that **clusterfuck** on Ziost. 

“Suit yourself. But I’m only sticking around until Valkorian and his brats are ashes in the wind. After that I’m **not** going back. Not **ever**.” 

He would **not** be betrayed again.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed this madness! I know I enjoyed writing it
> 
> Any and all kudos, comments, constructive criticisms and so on are loved and cherished so please feel free! ^^
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Mando'a translations:
> 
>  _di'kut_ \- idiot  
>  _cyare_ \- sweetheart  
>  _dar'jetii_ \- dark Jedi/Sith  
>  _jetii_ \- Jedi

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Family lasts through all Betrayal [ART]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945308) by [Jahaliel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jahaliel/pseuds/Jahaliel)




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